


Change Your Clothes, Change Your Mind

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Scent Marking, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 09:57:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1600688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles should totally ignore the fact he's picked up Scott's lacrosse jersey by accident. He shouldn't do anything with it. At all. Even though it's tempting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change Your Clothes, Change Your Mind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dephigravity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dephigravity/gifts).



> For Teen Wolf Spring Break. The prompts I chose were Scott/Stiles and clothes sharing. Hope you like it.

Stiles knew he shouldn’t. He knew he should ignore the fact Scott’s lacrosse jersey had somehow ended up crumpled at the bottom of his backpack. But Stiles wasn’t the type of person to ignore things. He couldn’t ignore scabs, picking away assiduously. He definitely couldn’t ignore mysteries – those he had to solve as soon as he could. And the fact Scott’s jersey, smelling of Scott, was there was enough to have him worrying at his bottom lip, scratching his shoulder and just looking at the dark spill of cloth.

Stiles checked the window was closed and locked and shut the blind and closed the drapes. His dick was already starting to get hard, although there was nothing special there. He was a teenager. He was supposed to get turned on in a heartbeat. It was slowing the heartbeat down that was the problem. Sometimes it felt like he could taste his heart in his throat, fluttering away. Like it was doing now.

Stiles snagged the jersey and smoothed it out on his bed. He traced his hands over the peeling white lettering. Then he pulled off his own t-shirt and tugged it over his head. The material was rough against his skin, catching his nipples and making him breathe heavily. He shouldn’t be doing this; he should be trying to lock all these feelings about Scott away in the recesses of his brain and ignore them forever. Scott was his best friend, even when he was being all ‘I’m a cool werewolf’ and ‘whoops, alpha’. Even when he was being utterly besotted by a girl. Because Stiles was in favor of Scott getting laid.

And that standing up for his bro was what he was blaming for Scott taking a larger than usual role in a lot of the fantasies he was having. He’d been a bit more LydiaLydiaLydia of late to try and make sure Scott suspected nothing. But none of that mattered as he drew in a deep breath and was surrounded by the smell of Scott. Stiles was definitely not a werewolf but that didn’t mean he couldn’t smell things. He brushed across the front of the shirt, sucking in a breath as he took the rough cloth over his nipple again.

Stiles knew that if he went straight for his cock, he would be done in moments, so he took the time to tease, to let his hands wander and press until he was trembling for all he was pretty much fully dressed. Then it all became a little too much. Stiles kicked off his pants and stumbled, fell, onto his bed, squirming around to scratch the jersey around his body some more. He shoved one hand in his boxers, sighing into the tight familiar grip of his hand, and starting to jerk more seriously, not thinking of much other than the way Scott’s skin shifted over his muscles, his broad shoulders. His ass. The way his abs were totally cut and Stiles wanted to lick them.

He kept his free hand running over the stripes of the white eleven on his chest. Then he kicked off the boxers, feeling all exposed even though he was alone and technically clothed and the humiliating aspect of it all made him even harder. He was only a few strokes away now, his dick brushing up against the hem of the jersey, the sensation almost more than Stiles could cope with.

The door banged open and Stiles froze. He was supposed to be home alone and his dad would knock (because his dad knew him) and Stiles really needed to conquer his fear reactions. Running away and hiding was a much better option than this stupid freezing in place.

Scott gaped at him for a moment before laughing. “Put it away, man.”

Stiles scrambled under the covers, holding the sheet up to his neck, and tried to brazen it out. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, man.”

Scott nodded, entirely too slow and deliberate for Stiles’ entire comfort. He looked like he was thinking something over. “Deaton said…” Scott paused, searching for the words.

Stiles admired this considering, thoughtful Scott. But he was pretty happy if Scott would stop being all kinda smart and just go away so he could tell his boner to die and put some pants back on. And change out of Scott’s jersey before he noticed. “Nothing good comes out when sentences start that way.”

Scott held out his arm, fist clenched, ready for a bump. Stiles awkwardly clutched the sheets to his chest and extracted an arm. The brush of knuckles should have been all about friendship, about solidarity in the face of weird shit and mystical mentors. But instead the touch of the soft skin, with all that restrained strength behind it, sent a punch of lust to Stiles’ dick. He could almost feel it getting harder and moister.

Scott’s nose flared and Stiles wished to die for a moment. That urge intensified when Scott came closer, his brown eyes swirling into red as he took another deep breath, tasting the air. “Deaton said that-“ And there was a growl buried in the words. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

“Um,” Stiles said. “Yes,” he continued. “It was an accident,” he tried. Scott had slunk closer to him, hovering just above Stiles’ body, hands outstretched. Stiles’ weak grip was no match for Scott pulling the sheets away. He lay there, exposed, tugging down Scott’s stupid jersey to try and hide how hard he was. 

“Don’t hide,” Scott said, eyes completely red now and glowing. He sung himself onto the bed, straddling Stiles, nose coming to run along where Stiles’ collarbone peeked out of the collar of the shirt. Scott bit down, lightly, too hard to be a kiss, and Stiles froze once more. “Deaton said something about instincts. I think I get what he meant now.”

Scott sat up, balancing on Stiles’ thighs, and shucked off his shirt. He didn’t stop there, wriggling around until he had his pants and underwear thrust down around his thighs. His cock was hard, bouncing against his belly as Scott leaned forward to run his nose up Stiles’ neck again. “You smell like me. I’m going to make you smell even more like me.” Scott didn’t seem to be actually speaking to Stiles as much as just letting his mouth run. But the weight of his body and the sight of all that skin was definitely doing it for Stiles.

His dick bumped up against Scott’s balls. “Yeah?” Stiles said, not even sure what question he was asking or answering. “Yeah.”

Scott bit down again, teeth human blunt, and pressed back down against Stiles. It should have been awkward and really difficult to adjust around all the clothing and inexperience they were still wielding, but somehow Scott managed to sprawl on top of Stiles, dicks rubbing against each other and mouth working on a huge hickey on Stiles’ exposed shoulder. The cloth of the jersey rubbed between them, weirdly making everything more real and present and actually reminding Stiles that this was fucking happening.

Scott let out a mewling sound – it was animal and it was cute and that was the word Stiles’ brain decided to come up with – and melted against Stiles, touching as much as possible. It was the noise that prompted Stiles to lift him hands out of the death grip he had on the sheet and stroke down Scott’s back, fingertips just brushing at the swell of his ass. In retaliation, Scott bit down a little harder and came, all at once, in a rush.

Scott was grinning when he pulled back, eyes still glowing red. It was a strange mix. The grin was the crooked one that Stiles knew Scott was going to pull some shit but the red eyes were pure alpha and he wasn’t sure they went together. He stopped caring as much when Scott got his hand around Stiles cock, using his own come to slick the way.

“Fuck.” Stiles bit out, unable to keep quiet anymore. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.” If Scott could mewl, he could be loud. Scott seemed to like it because he ducked his head to suck at a nipple through the weave of the jersey. That was what finally made Stiles lose it with another shout.

He fluttered his eyes open to see Scott licking his hand clean. “That’s not fair, man.”

“What?” Scott’s eyes were back to normal, but he was still mostly naked in Stiles’ bed and not making any moves to claim that what they’d done hadn’t happened or anything like that. “It tastes good. Tastes like us.” He held out his hand and Stiles licked across Scott’s palm before he really thought it through. It wasn’t entirely gross.

Stiles flopped back on the pillows and was surprised when Scott joined him, kicking his pants off the rest of the way and hauling the sheets up to cover them. “Nap time,” Scott announced, sleepily.

“Okay.” Stiles lay where he’d fallen for a moment before scooting around to lie on his side. Scott immediately curled up around him. “We should -”

“Talk later.” Scott brushed his mouth over Stiles’s jersey covered shoulder. “More later. Sleep now.”

Stiles drifted off as Scott fisted his hand in the material over his chest.


End file.
